A Little Sweetheart
by WillowDryad
Summary: Oreius has always ignored the foolishness of Sweethearts' Day, but this year there may be two who capture his heart.


**Disclaimer: All the characters and situations in The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius belongs to Walden Media or something. :::shrugs:::**

A LITTLE SWEETHEART

The purple twilight was deepening into black. Soon the stars would appear, twinkling like a scattering of diamonds on velvet. Queen Susan and the other ladies of the Royal Court had been making preparations for more than a sennight, and now Sweethearts' Day had at last arrived.

Oreius had seen it for a good many years now, ever since the Kings and Queens had come from that Other Place. He knew the Banquet Hall would be filled with lush flowers, with lace and ribbons and like romantic foolishness. There would be chocolates and other sweets, wines from Archenland's finest vinyards and honey cakes provided by the High King's very own Bees.

And there would be music. At first, the joyous songs of the Birds and smaller Beasts, the Rabbits and Squirrels and, most especially, the Hedgehogs whose tiny, piping voices the Just King always compared to something he called a calliope. Then would come the richer, wilder tunes of the Naiads and Dryads, the haunting songs of the solemn Gryphons who mated for life and then the silver singing of the Merfolk. There would be dancing, too, with noble Ladies and Gentlemen pairing two by two in their finery and the Kings and Queens outshining them all.

None of this had ever held much allure for Oreius before. He was a soldier, a general, with little time for such nonsense, and he attended each Sweethearts' Day Ball only to satisfy himself that his Kings and Queens were well protected in the presence of so many visitors from throughout Narnia and even beyond. He had never regretted not joining in or even considered doing anything else. Not until now. Now there was someone–

At the firm tug on his tail, he tensed and spun. Who–

That little giggle. He exhaled and relaxed, hiding his smile as best he could.

"Who could that be?" he demanded as gruffly as he was able. "Who dares pull the tail of the High General of all Narnia?"

Again there was the tiniest of giggles, and then two very blue eyes peeped at him from around his open study door.

He leaned down, still pretending to be fierce. "Is it a spy?"

The big blue eyes blinked at him and then, with a shriek and the clatter of tiny hooves, the golden head vanished. Oreius dashed into the corridor and snatched up the fleeing little filly before she could escape.

"Now then, you little minx, what are you doing away from your dam? I thought you were both napping."

The little Centauress seized two handfuls of his hair and, with a squeal of laughter, tugged with all her might. He laughed, too, and cuddled her close.

"Minx," he repeated, and she patted his face with one fistful of his hair.

The filly and her dam had come to Cair Paravel just before Christmas. For the wedding of the High King, Demeter had said, but Oreius was certain it had been to bring the little one to court. To visit the Kings and Queens and perhaps–

The little Centauress tugged his hair again, babbling at him innocently. She was very young yet, born just in the middle of Yule, but she was happy and thriving, a beautiful blend of her sire's golden hair and sapphire eyes and the fine features and delicate build of her dam.

Her dam. Sweet Demeter. She had come back to Cair Paravel as he had hoped she would, after she had time to grieve the loss of her husband and recover from the birth of her foal, but would she ever be able to forget? After all she had suffered, could she possibly begin anew? Would she even want to love again?

"She has you, little one."

The filly gave his hair another fierce tug and crowed, triumphant, at his scowl.

"You ought to keep her too busy to dwell much upon the past," he said, smiling as he opened her little fists and then swept his hair back out of her reach. At once, her sunny expression clouded. Her scowl was a miniature imitation of his own. That made him laugh, which made her scowl more, and when that was unsuccessful, she began to sniffle.

"Here now, little one, none of that."

She looked at him as if her heart would break, her sweet face a perfect miniature of her mother's, and he cuddled her closer to his chest.

"Shh, shh, shh," he soothed, but that made her eyes fill with tears and her lower lip tremble.

As a last resort, he unlaced one of his wristlets and put it into her eager hands. In another moment she had part of it in her mouth.

"Don't tell your mama," he murmured as she began gnawing on it. "She thinks it's not ladylike."

The little filly settled her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on his, and he smiled into her guileless eyes.

"I say you are a fine filly already." He walked out to the balcony and began pacing the length of it, jiggling her as he did. "How could you be anything but ladylike with so fine a dam as yours?"

The filly merely blinked at him, still chewing his wristlet. He looked across the white sands of the beach and out to sea. Already couples were streaming into the Cair, the big Cats with their mates, Peacocks with their Hens already strutting and displaying their fine feathers, Bucks with their gentle Does, pairs of Squirrels and Foxes, all the forest Animals, the Sylvans and the Unicorns, all the Magical Creatures, all two by two.

"What do you think, little one?"

Again she blinked, nestling more closely to him.

"I'm to take you both back to your herd tomorrow," he told her. "You might have gone well before now had the Queens not wheedled your dam into staying till the Ball was over. But now there is no more excuse. How can I ask her to say if her time here has not already persuaded her? I know she feels she is in debt to the Kings and Queens for what they did for her before, but I would not have her stay only out of obligation. Not to them. Not to anyone. She should be where she is happy. With your herd. With your grandsire. I cannot deny her that. Not if she has found nothing here to hold her."

His pacing slowed and then stopped. Some of the larger Animals were arriving, pairs of Horses and stately Gryphons. Centaurs. Two by two.

"I suppose I must–" He looked down to see the little filly had fallen asleep, his sodden wristlet still clutched in one plump fist. With a bittersweet smile, he leaned down and touched his lips to her pink cheek. "I suppose I must."

"Must what?"

Oreius froze, his back still to the doorway. What should he say? What _could_ he say?

He took a deep breath and turned. "Lady Demeter."

She looked particularly lovely at that moment, only just wakened from her nap, her dark hair tousled and tumbling down her back, her dark eyes wide and wary as a Doe with a new Fawn, her light tunic, white linen banded with gold, clinging to her willowy form. There was a touch more rosy color in her face than usual, but she merely gave him an uncertain smile. "When I woke, I didn't find Celina with me, but I was sure I knew where she would go."

"I did not mean to worry you, Lady. I was just about to bring her back to you."

Her smile became a little more certain, a little warmer. "It was no worry, General. My father is the only one I would trust her to more than you."

He bowed slightly, careful not to wake the sleeping little filly. "And I would never allow any harm to come to her. To either of you."

Her face turned pinker, but she made no reply to that. Instead, she walked out onto the balcony, watching, as Oreius had, the arrival of all the sweethearts for the Ball.

"I did not know there would be so many," she said, a touch of wistfulness in her low voice.

"Queen Susan makes it a grand celebration every year and all are welcome. You are welcome."

She shrugged slightly. "I . . . don't know. I would have nothing suitable to wear to such a grand occasion."

"I understand Lady Moonrose offered you the use of a tunic of rose-colored silk and spun silver for the evening. I know she does not look it now, but she was as slender as you when she was a young mare."

"But Celina–"

"Lady Moonrose also offered to look after her for the evening, did she not?"

Demeter bit her lip, but she smiled, too. "How do you know these things?"

"There is little said at Cair Paravel that all the Court does not shortly know. And if all the Court does not know, the Queens almost certainly do."

She raised one delicately curved dark brow. "And why should the Queens speak of such matters to you?"

"I–" He cleared his throat. "I believe they wished you to come to the Ball and thought perhaps I could . . . encourage you to attend."

"Oh." She looked down and then out again to sea. "They should not have imposed upon you in that way."

"No," he insisted, and then he made his voice more sedate. "It would have been no imposition, Lady. None at all. It was I who did not wish to impose. I know already that you feel obliged to the Kings and Queens and perhaps even to me for what happened last year near Cauldron Pool. I did not wish to press you to do something for which you are not yet ready. It was enough that you left your herd to come visit for so long, and I know you desire to return as soon as possible."

"It is always good to be home," she admitted, "but I have no _urgent_ need to go there now."

Was he mistaken? Or was just the tiniest hint of invitation in her smile?

"Does that mean you wish to go to the Ball tonight?"

Her thick lashes fluttered to her flushed cheeks. "I would never disappoint the Queens if I could avoid it."

"But, Lady," he said, tilting her chin up with one gentle finger, "is it your wish to go?"

"Only," she murmured, "if I need not go alone."

Somehow he managed to keep from shouting with joy. Instead his voice was low and even. "It would be my great pleasure, Lady Demeter, if you would allow me to escort you."

Her lips trembled, but she smiled and nodded, and he could see nothing but pleasure in her expression, too.

"We have not waited too late to prepare, have we?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"I will take you and the little one to Lady Moonrose. When you are ready, send me word and I will come for you." He settled the sleeping filly a little more securely against him and then offered Demeter his arm. "Aslan did some of His finest work in the creation of our Centaur mares, Lady. They need very little in the way of augmentation."

That made her laugh, just the soft gentle laugh that had grown more frequent during her stay, but it was reward enough.

She slipped her arm through his. "I will not be long then."

They got almost to Lady Moonrose's quarters when she slowed to a stop, still uncertain.

"I must ask though. When I came to your study, I heard you say there was something you must do. It seemed as if the task grieved you. It wasn't–" Her dark eyes were earnest and pleading. "Please tell me it wasn't that you felt you _must_ accompany me tonight. I would never want you to feel obliged–"

"No, Lady. Never that. It is only that you promised the Queens to stay only until Sweethearts' Day. Only until today. It would be my duty to return you to your herd tomorrow, if that is your wish. And if it is your wish, then I suppose I must."

"And if it is not?" Once again, she lowered her eyes. "If I should decide to stay, at least for a little while more?"

"Then I shall, from my heart, Lady, thank the Great Lion for every moment you and your little one are with us."

She didn't look up, but her hand tightened on his arm before she released it. "And I shall do the same."

Then she took her foal and hurried to Moonrose's door.

 **Author's Note: Happy Sweethearts' Day everyone! Let those you love know how much you love them – today and every day! If you'd like to know more about what happened to Demeter's husband, you can find out in my earlier story, Wind's Harvest.  
**


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